


In My Head

by missjmelville



Series: August Fic Challenge [15]
Category: The Following
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s03e13 A Simple Trade, Hallucinations, Murder, Other, Unstable Ryan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 00:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4586691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missjmelville/pseuds/missjmelville
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Is this good?" he asks into the quiet of the room, it echoes back to him softly, his voice sounds wrecked, was he screaming? His throat is dry so he swallows, licks his lips and tries again. This time his voice is softer, less gravelly. </p>
<p>Ryan's hallucinations of Joe take a darker turn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In My Head

**Author's Note:**

> Day sixteen of my august fic challenge, technically I wrote this a couple months ago but I'm posting it for today as the actual fic I have been working on today isn't ready yet. The important thing is that I've written stuff today even if it wasn't this.

Ryan's hands are shaking, his heart stutters in his chest. He breathes in deep, slow, and waits, then lets it out. Everything settles. 

The hand warm and firm between his shoulder blades is calming. He breathes out again, the tense line of his shoulders finally relaxing. The hand moves, slow and purposeful, up to his nape, fingers curl into the baby-fine hair there. He suppresses a shiver but is unable to stop the shaky-soft noise he makes on his next exhale. 

Now that he isn't focussed on the heavy beat of his heart in his ears or the harsh sounds of his breathing, now that he is calm and still, the world around him comes back into focus. His hands are wet, dripping, there's a puddle on the floor. The tiles are cold on the soles of his bare feet, the puddle creeps ever closer. 

"Is this good?" he asks into the quiet of the room, it echoes back to him softly, his voice sounds wrecked, was he screaming? His throat is dry so he swallows, licks his lips and tries again. This time his voice is softer, less gravelly. 

"Is it okay?" He can't help the uncertainty that creeps into his voice as he waits, almost nervously, for an answer. 

The hand at his nape moves up, fingers carding through his hair, pressing gentle but firm on his scalp. The uncertainty, the nervousness, passes as he leans back into the touch and closes his eyes.


End file.
